


Sheet Music

by takeasmallbite



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Music, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18853813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takeasmallbite/pseuds/takeasmallbite
Summary: John had no idea how Sherlock knew what sounds to make from all those lines and dots.





	Sheet Music

**Author's Note:**

> Listen... I haven't written a fic for any fandom in years. Now is as good a time as any to get back into it, though. This is not beta'd or Brit-picked; I just fired it off to see if I still knew how to write fiction lol

When Sherlock first warned him about how he would spend hours at a time playing the violin, John assumed that it would be an annoyance he would have to deal with in exchange for cheaper rent and some company. John never expected that he would find his flatmate’s music so enchanting. Music had never meant anything to John, but in just a few months, he’d heard more classical music than he had in the other thirty-odd years of his life. More interesting than the sound of the music, though, was the _sheet music_.

John had no idea how Sherlock knew what sounds to make from all those lines and dots. John had peeked at Sherlock’s sheet music before, but he saw nothing melodious at all, just splotches with flagpoles. There was no music to be found in all the black. It was just ink and paper to John, yet Sherlock was able to pull the most beautiful songs from the pages with ease.

John had to know how he did it.

There was no case one particular winter day, and when the silence of the flat became too oppressive to stand, Sherlock picked up his violin, flipped to a random piece of music on his music stand, and began to play. John looked on from his chair, just barely able to see the music past Sherlock’s torso. Every so often, Sherlock would stop playing to flip the page, and John took that as his in.

“Hey, I can turn the pages, if you’d like. You know… so you don’t have to keep stopping.”

Sherlock turned to face him, with just a bit of confusion written on his angular features. Sherlock could usually read John's mind just by the way he was holding himself or by a certain twitch or look. To get genuine confusion out of Sherlock was a feat in and of itself.

“Alright.”

So John moved to sit in the chair next to Sherlock and aimed himself toward the music stand. Sherlock began to play, and, try as he might to look at the music, John felt his eyes drawn to the man. When his friend would play or compose, he normally faced the window. From this angle, though, John could see a story written on Sherlock’s face as his grey-green-blue eyes followed the lines on the page. There were no words to the song, yet John felt like he knew what the piece was about just by Sherlock's facial expressions. The music was soft and delicate, and it made him think of snow. He got lost in the thought of how snow might look in Sherlock’s hair when his friend suddenly met his eyes.

“The notes aren’t on my face, you know,” Sherlock teased, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. John coughed and turned to the music stand. He flipped to the next page and Sherlock started to play again. This time, John stared at the music, but he realized quickly that he had no idea where his flatmate was on the page. All the lines and Italian phrases meant nothing to him. Sherlock stopped playing again, chuckling a little.

“I can turn them myself if this is too challenging,” Sherlock said, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. John leaned into it a bit.

“No, no, I want to. I just… don’t know how to follow where you are to know when to turn,” John said, searching the page for some meaning.

“You haven't a clue how to read music, John. Of course you can’t follow along.”

“Well,” John started, turning to Sherlock, “what if you taught me?”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, searching John’s face a bit like John had searched the sheet music for anything that made sense. That was two instances of confusion in just a few minutes.

“I suppose that might be a bit entertaining. Let’s give it a try,” Sherlock said, handing his violin off to John. John had never held the instrument before. Even when he tried to organize the sitting room on off days, he never touched Sherlock’s violin and music. It was the only thing John really felt was off limits in the flat (even the body parts in the fridge needed to be shuffled around sometimes, and John was not afraid of that task). The violin was a bit heavier than he expected, and it was in pristine condition, contrasting with the disarray of the room. The instrument was clearly worth a lot to his friend. He liked holding it.

Sherlock pulled up a chair next to John and flipped to the front of the book of music. The entire page was covered in neat notes, all made in pencil. A reminder to play with more emotion here, or to use stronger vibrato there. Sherlock pressed the pages flat with a little _crunch_ ing noise and pointed at the upper left corner of the top row of lines. There was a squiggly bit (a treble clef?), several letter b’s sprinkled next to it, and a fraction (four over four).

“Do you know what any of these things are?” Sherlock asked, facing John.

“That’s the number four," John joked, pointing to what he saw as a fraction waiting to be reduced. He had no clue what he was looking at.

A smile pulled at the corner of Sherlock's mouth. John’s heart beat a little bit harder, maybe out of nerves, or maybe because Sherlock was smiling _because_ of _him_. Sherlock didn’t smile a lot, at least around other people. With John, it was a bit more common. John certainly didn’t mind.

“Good. That’s a start,” Sherlock said with a chuckle, then, “ I’m going to give you the basics very quickly. Do keep up.”

Sherlock launched into a crash course in reading sheet music. Sherlock was smarter than the whole of England, but he was no teacher. John could hardly keep track of what his friend was saying, try as he might. _This is the time signature, top number is beats per measure, bottom number tells you what type of note gets the beat, quarter note gets the beat in this song, that’s a quarter note, it’s a quarter of a whole note, that’s a whole note, the ones with a single flag are eighth notes, but two flags means it’s a 16th note, that’s a rest, you don’t play anything during those…_

And on, and on, and on…

It was all so confusing, like trying to become fluent in a new language in an hour. Eventually Sherlock took back his violin and played the music on just that first page, piece by piece (or, rather measure by measure, as John had learned they were called). With Sherlock playing and tapping his foot to the beat, John was actually able to follow along. When he thought they’d reached the end of the page, he turned the page. Sherlock’s playing became stilted for just a moment, but he continued to play like nothing had happened. John smiled to himself, proud that he’d picked up sight reading so quickly. He wasn't at all confident, but his limited understanding was something he could grow from. Each time he turned the page, Sherlock’s little hiccups smoothed out more until they were almost inaudible. John assumed that he wasn’t used to having a page-turner.

John kept turning the page when it felt right until, eventually, they reached the end of the song. The piece ended with a whole note (John knew what that was!), which Sherlock played with a delicate crescendo. They sat for a moment, watching the snow through the window. The silence was not uncomfortable, but John soon missed the music. Now that he sort of knew what it felt like to read it, he held a far greater appreciation for Sherlock's hobby. He loved that his friend could do even _this;_ he could take black and white and create colorful melodies. He painted stories in the air with his bow. Before, it was just pretty background music. Now it felt like more.

Suddenly, in the midst of John’s poetic ruminations, there was Sherlock giggling. John looked to his flatmate, cocking his head, unsure of what there was to laugh at. Sherlock sat his violin and bow on the floor beside him and put a hand on John’s knee, and his giggles turned into a hearty laugh. John, not knowing what was happening, laughed, too. He liked having that hand there.

Between chuckles, Sherlock said, “It’s not often I have to improvise while reading sheets.”

“What do you mean? Why would you have to improvise with the music all right there?”

“You kept turning the page about 6 measures too early. ”

John’s mouth made a little “o”. It would take an expert performer to make a random spot on one page connect seamlessly with the start of the next, without warning. He adored how talented his friend was. He thought he saw some of that adoration mirrored in his friend's face, but he wasn't sure.

"Amazing. I had no idea."

"Adapt and conquer," Sherlock said, still smiling at John. The confusion that was there earlier had disappeared completely, replaced with something else entirely, something sweeter. John was sure of it now. They just looked at each other for a moment. John looked away first.

“Well, I'll leave you alone. I don't want to make it harder for you to play,” John said, standing and turning to sit back in his normal chair, only for Sherlock to grab his wrist and pull him back down to where he’d been sitting by the music stand.

“You’ll get better with time. I'd appreciate it if you continued being my page-turner.”

"No, I'll just be in the way-"

And, without warning, Sherlock leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips. John blinked, not at all perturbed by this turn of events, just a bit surprised. Sherlock pulled away to look John in the eyes.

"You are never in the way."

He’d definitely work on his sight reading if it meant more of _that._


End file.
